Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.065 apart. A smaller distance means the lines are built more alike.

This number is read from the build of the lines. The bright edge is that number, carried outward until the pattern repeats.

Nike

by Bliss Carman

−0.4961 − 1.2191i

Drawing the boundary…

The Useless Ones

by John Boyle O'Reilly

−0.5205 − 1.2790i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

Each poem scrolls on its own, so the two texts stay beside each other.

Nike

by Bliss Carman

What do men give thanks for?
I give thanks for one,
Lovelier than morning,
Dearer than the sun.

Such a head the victors
Must have praised and known,
With that breast and bearing,
Nike's very own—

As superb, untrammeled,
Rhythmed and poised and free
As the strong pure sea-wind
Walking on the sea;

Such a hand as Beauty
Uses with full heart,
Seeking for her freedom
In new shapes of art;

Soft as rain in April,
Quiet as the days
Of the purple asters
And the autumn haze;

With a soul more subtle
Than the light of stars,
Frailer than a moth's wing
To the touch that mars;

Wise with all the silence
Of the waiting hills,
When the gracious twilight
Wakes in them and thrills;

With a voice more tender
Than the early moon
Hears among the thrushes
In the woods of June;

Delicate as grasses
When they lift and stir —
One sweet lyric woman—
I give thanks for her.

The Useless Ones

by John Boyle O'Reilly

Poet should not reason: 
Let them sing! 
Argument is treason— 
Bells should ring. 

Statements none, nor questions; 
Gnomic words. 
Spirit-cries, suggestions, 
Like the birds. 

He may use deduction 
Who must preach; 
He may praise instruction 
Who must teach.

But the poet duly 
Fills his part 
When the song bursts truly 
From his heart. 

For no purpose springing; 
For no pelf: 
He must do the singing 
For itself. 

Not in lines austerely 
Let him build; 
Not the surface merely 
Let him gild. 

Fearless, uninvited, 
Like a spring. 
Opal-words, inlighted, 
Let him sing. 

As the leaf grows sunward 
Song must grow; 
As the stream flows onward 
Song must flow. 

Useless? Ay,—for measure; 
Roses die, 
But their breath gives pleasure— 
God knows why! 

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